


Through the Dark

by DoubleL27



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Belonging, Competition, Competitive Patrick Brewer, David Rose is a Good Person, David Rose is a Nice Person, Found Family, Halloween, Husbands, M/M, Near Future, Post-Canon, Pouty Patrick, Small Towns, husbands in love and business
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27179248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubleL27/pseuds/DoubleL27
Summary: The Haunted High (and middle and elementary) Schooltheevent of the Schitt’s Creek Halloween season. Businesses are asked to sponsor groups of students as they decorate the school Halloween weekend for one of the largest school fundraisers of the year. Middle schoolers are responsible for making the side for little kids, soft and sweet, while the high schoolers get to pull out all the horror stops.David wishes that Rose Apothecary could be on the little kid side. This year Twyla’s Cafe Tropical, Ivan Baking and the Vet Clinic have transformed the first floor into a Candy Land-Kwazy Kupkakes-Tim Burton’s Willy Wonka mashup. Patrick has offered that Rose Apothecary could sponsor two rooms, as Ray does. He entirely misses the point that their aesthetic doesn’t trade in blood and gore. Not that they trade in psychedelic sweets either.However, Rose Apothecary cannot be doing sweet and soft, though, because Lee’s Contracting does the actually terrifying side and Ronnie boasted about her win count to Patrick once and now it’s a thing.ORDavid Rose is a wonderful husband who supports Patrick in all of the things he likes to do.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer & Ronnie, Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 22
Kudos: 84
Collections: Schitt's Creek Trick Or Treat





	Through the Dark

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [Januarium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Januarium/pseuds/Januarium) in the [SCTrickOrTreat](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SCTrickOrTreat) collection. 



> For Jan! I hope you adore every inch of this fic. It turned into a behemoth while I wasn't looking. 
> 
> Thanks to my betas [redacted] and [redacted] for the constructive criticism and all the talking through for this, and to [redacted] for the cheerleading and emotional support and the title, which is from Home by Edward Sharp and the Magnetic Zeros.
> 
> Thanks to David Rose for writing the summary for this fic. There was a strict vetting process.

David is exceedingly glad that everyone is inside the building and that no one can see him carrying the awkwardly shaped box out of the Lincoln as he kicks the back door shut. He adjusts it so that the shifting of the box does not result in a spilling of the contents all over the parking lot. The Schitt’s Creek School building was much more appealing in the days when they were dropping Alexis off for classes. Currently, it’s adorned with crookedly hand-lettered signs reading ‘Haunted High (Middle & Elementary) School’ posted out front, highlighting the $5 ticket price, max $20 for families, and cheap cotton spider webs and “crashed” witches, who appear “flattened” against the building. 

Saturday mornings should not involve getting up early to drop stuff off at the school for one of Patrick’s extracurriculars before opening the store. Certainly not chilly October mornings, which were made for cuddling in bed. Sadly, Patrick’s side of the bed was already cold when he woke. David huffs his way into the building, door miraculously opening for him to reveal a camera flash and of course, Ray. 

“Hello, David! Happy Haunted High and Middle and Elementary School Day!” Ray remains as bright and annoying as he was when Patrick lived with him. “Just recording the day for _Schitt’s Happening with Ray!_ ”

“Mmkay. I am just dropping off extra supplies for Patrick. I am not actually involved here.”

“Rose Apothecary _is_ sponsoring the room, so your name is attached to it, _isn’t it?”_

The whole sponsoring business is much to David’s disliking. Patrick, on the other hand, is convinced that it’s essential to be a part of the community, specifically the business community. There’s things about all pulling together and being part of the greater business bureau. If David _had_ to participate in this fiasco of a day, Rose Apothecary would be part of the downstairs crew, for the little kids, that David felt could be channeled from tacky to tasteful with very careful tuning and a mood board. He did not have the time or the desire for that.

David, however, _did_ acquiesce to his husband’s wishes to be part of the “scary” rooms after Ronnie boasted during the baseball finale barbeque years ago about preparing for another victory. Patrick asked, of course, and Ronnie explained that her students’ room always wins the top prize. Now, they’re five years into Patrick and Ronnie attempting to beat each other, and it somehow gets more intense every year. 

David used Patrick’s wish to have Rose Apothecary sponsor a room at the school to negotiate full creative control over decorations at _both_ the house and Rose Apothecary for all seasons. Patrick gets to keep all of his creepy and holiday focused decorations for the school event, and David gets to do tasteful fall decorations in the color scheme of his choice. Currently, the cottage door is decorated with a lovely dried flower wreath of amaranth, broom corn and purple statice. 

David huffs, shifting the box again. It’s heavy and he’s been carrying it too long. He starts to sidle away from Ray. “As _Patrick_ is the one in charge of this project, this is _Patrick’s_ responsibility.”

“Patrick is your _husband,_ David, as well as your business partner,” Ray reminds him, with that sickly-sweet, know-it-all smile.

“Yes, Ray, I was there! It was _my_ wedding.” David yells back. “I also have the video you took. I’ve got to-to go...get this upstairs.”

David makes a beeline for the elevator which has a horrifying amount of plastic caution tape that proclaims mixed messages including **Enter If You Dare** and **Haunted: KEEP OUT**. The lessons he could give on decorating on theme without being garish, if only people would take his advice. 

David is moving to bump the button with his elbow when Twyla’s cheery voice calls out, “Oh, David! Joceyln already turned the elevator to key only mode. We thought all the stuff had been moved in!” 

Twyla is perched up on a ladder with a giant cupcake that looks like it’s made out of incredibly lumpy paper mache. Twyla’s got a rueful smile as she imparts the information. David doesn’t think pregnant women should be up on ladders, but here she is.

“Well, fuck.” David drops the box and there’s only a faint clatter. Nothing broke, he’s fairly sure. “Patrick couldn’t fit this one last box in his tiny-ass Corolla.”

“You all should really think about getting a truck,” Twyla advises.

“Mmm.” Over his dead body. The high school kids had trucks, and had carried off most of the decor, if you wanted to be very broad with the term. Why this box remained was a mystery. “Thanks Twyla.”

David groans as he hefts the box back up and turns toward the stairwell. His path is stopped short when Twyla calls after him. “You might want to go down the left hall, and then upstairs? It’s easier because the front stairs are already decorated. It gets…” Twyla’s ponytail falls sideways as she considers her words, “ _tricky_ at the top.”

David does not know what that means. Considering the denizens of Schitt’s Creek, David is certain he does not want to know. 

“Twy,” Shannon’s voice comes from around the corner, “Why are you on the ladder, alone?”

Twyla blinks down at her wife like she’s crazy. “David’s here. Besides, it would be silly if someone else was on the ladder.”

Shannon rolls her eyes and puts both hands on the bottom of the ladder and looks up at Twyla sternly. “You know what I mean. Here, come down.”

“Now that you’re here,” Twyla says brightly, “you can hold it for me while I put this up.”

David ignores the squabbling between Twyla and the vet and huffs and puffs his way down the hall that looks like Candy Land, Willy Wonka and Kwazy Cupcakes exploding inside and trudges up thankfully unadorned stairs. Patrick’s assigned classroom is directly at the top of the flight of stairs and David releases the box unceremoniously in the cluttered entrance. 

The room is crawling with high schoolers and David cannot quite find his baby-faced husband amidst the children. Wooden scaffolds with branches and saplings nailed to them sketch out a winding path. David distinctly remembers waking up to incessant pounding, and not the _good kind,_ to find Patrick putting these together with students in the yard. The only grace was that it cleaned up the debris from a thunderstorm that had been lingering in their yard. Actually, David’s fairly certain Patrick’s team of children cleaned up half the town under the guise of community service, and stored all of the sticks and tree bits in their yard for this moment.

“Thanks, David!” Patrick’s voice calls out. “Tim, would you—”

David scans again, following the voice and finds Patrick up on a ladder, in a dark gray hoodie and tshirt that makes him almost indistinguishable from the children around him. They’ve got some sort of platform going with little stick effigies of people David doesn’t recognize. 

“Yeah!” A rather small teenager darts out to open the box at David’s feet. “Thanks, Mr. Rose.”

The formal address makes him cringe and David corrects the child with, “Umm, it’s David. Mr. Rose is my father.”

Patrick chuckles, warm and traitorous. “Yes. David vibes with a _much younger_ crowd.”

The joke has gotten quite old, especially as Patrick has upped his use of it since David’s last birthday, a multiple of ten which will not be spoken of. “Umm, I’m sorry if we cannot all have been born with the mentality of grandparents.”

“David, _you_ yelled at kids to get off our lawn last week.”

“That was your fault! You should have told me you were having them over to do work.” There’s more things coming out of the box than he expected, including a pair of shoes he’s been begging Patrick to dispose of for years. “Also, what exactly did I bring you?” 

A flash of black and white catches David’s eye freezing him for a moment. “Is that—” David snaches the sweater out of Terry-Tom-Tim’s hands. “This is one of my sweaters!” It’s a 2008 Balenciaga turtleneck, practically vintage, that David had honestly forgotten he owned.

Patrick doesn’t even care enough to look down, but his voice is somehow stupidly laced with love when he says: “David, that sweater has lived in the auxiliary closet since before I met you, and Stevie’s gotten at least three different stains on it. You don’t wear it.”

Turning the sweater over furiously, David begins examining the off-white portions of the sleeves and the entirety of the body, ignoring the yoke entirely. “What stains? Where?” Finding what definitely looks like mustard tucked into the armpit (how the _fuck_ does one get mustard _in the armpit_ ), David gasps, glaring at his husband in the absence of his best friend. “She didn’t tell me.”

Patrick shoots him a look that says Stevie definitely did tell him, even if he doesn’t remember. Curse her and her talent for getting him wasted before telling him anything important. 

“Think of it as more space for new knitwear.”

David hums, releasing it to Tim, but keeping his eyes on Patrick. “You’re surprisingly convincing.”

His husband beams at David, and the warmth is very nice before Patrick’s attention moves to the student calling out to him, “Hey, Mr. B? What do you think—” 

While the decor of the room isn’t what _he_ would do, David can see how they’re creating a creepy atmosphere going here. The students continue moving like ants: shifting, layering, moving things around and generally buzzing with excitement. More than a few of them look familiar. One waves—Jerrod? who was definitely on the Little League team a few years back. Jerrod was the one who sat in left field making daisy chains. David always liked him, so David waves back. 

Truth is, most of these kids are vaguely familiar. They’ve been on some team for Patrick, or been in the store with their parents, or he’s helped to put on parties for their parent’s in many of their homes because Jocelyn recommends him as a party planner. Thankfully, he’s learned to have a pricing guide up front for those people who walk through the door. 

As if thinking her name manifests her, Jocelyn pokes her head into the door. Terrifying as ever, Jocelyn is smiling, clutching her clipboard and pencil tightly. The reverberating sound of Rollie Jr. banging down the hallway has David grimacing. Thank God, he got caught out by Tina and he doesn’t have to pretend that demon-spawn belongs to him any longer. 

“Patrick!” Jocelyn yells, “Just coming around to remind everyone that **fire** elements were **banned** after the blowtorch incident in the Bob’s Garage room last year! Okay?” 

David vaguely remembers Patrick coming home to him and Stevie surprisingly early, muttering about wax houses, sprinklers and fire alarms ruining voting. Clearly, if there had been an incident, it was probably best that David blacked it out from his memory. Patrick gives a thumbs up that turns into a wave, clearly still focused on the platform he’s building with the high schoolers, which appears to maybe be a tree. A large tree, with the anonymous stick figures. Are they hiding them somehow?

“Okay!” Jocelyn answers for herself.

“How are you doing, hun?” Jocelyn asks, rubbing a hand over his shoulders. That he’s only vaguely stiff at the still-surprising touch is a sign of how far their relationship has come. Once, he would have jumped out of his skin when Jocelyn initiated contact. He hoped certain people would learn a little more about boundaries, but Jocelyn means well...mostly. 

David cannot find the words for this time of morning, so he settles for a waving shrug, a heavy sigh and about six different facial expressions. 

Jocelyn gives him a squeeze that turns into another shoulder rub. “I know! Hang in there! I have been so tired of finding all of the dismembered body parts around the house, especially when Rollie pretends they’re his! They’ll all be in the Motel’s room now. If he can figure out how to use the chainsaw, I’ll be all set.”

“We’re allowing chainsaws?” David asks, horrified. Chainsaws seem to be on par with blowtorches in the not allowed category.

Jocelyn looks at him like he’s the one who is crazy. Considering how long David has lived here, it’s entirely possible. “It’s a fake chainsaw, David. How were they going to recreate _Texas Chainsaw Massacre_ without it?”

“How, indeed.”

Jocelyn exits stage left and is yelling at someone about blood spatter regulations. There are real reasons he's not interested in this whole mess of an event. The fact that blood spatter reminds him too much of the days hanging out with the cast of Dexter is the least of it. David peeks after her, and Rollie Jr. is still running amok and banging in the hallway. 

When David turns back, Patrick is off his perch and making his way over, smiling. Patrick is worth getting up almost directly after sunrise. David purses his lips for a kiss, leaning forward and is promptly rewarded. 

Patrick’s arms slide around his waist and they slot together like the pieces of a puzzle box. A rogue kiss finds the soft spot under his neck that David long since labeled Patrick’s. "Thanks for bringing the box. I appreciate it."

David leans in for another kiss, which goes unremarked on by the swarm of teens. He glances around the room, eyes narrowed, trying to remember what movie they’re doing. “Remind me of the scary-side theme again?”

“Classic films!” one of the kids chirps before Patrick can answer.

David frowns deeply and takes his hands off Patrick’s shoulders to wave them around the space. “And we are calling this classic?”

“It’s the Blair Witch Project!” Another kid interjects. 

Laughing awkwardly, David quirks his head at Patrick, pulling his chin back in distaste. “Umm, that’s not a classic! I saw that _in theaters!”_

One of the pimply faced kids who looks vaguely familiar from travel hockey grins down at David from a ladder. “It was made ten years before I was born.”

David’s lips disappear between his teeth before popping back out, loudly. “Mmkay. That is—that’s… _okay.”_

“And how old are we, David?” Patrick asks, shit-eating grin on his face. 

David narrows his eyes at his husband. “Okay, _this_ now, _this_ is _active_ harassment.” 

He pinches at Patrick’s shoulders before stepping out of the circle of his husband’s arms. His sniff is arch. “I-I have a store to open, so I will bid you good day.”

Turning on his heel, David makes for the door. 

“Bid us good day?” Patrick laughs and David curses the phone call he was on with his mother the night before. “Oh David, don’t forget that I called in a pizza order. If you could pick it up at 12:30?”

David gives a dismissive backwards wave before stomping down the stairs, past where Twyla is now holding the ladder for Shannon who is hanging decorations and right past Ray, tuning out whatever rambling message was yelled after him. Like he would ever forget pizza. 

~*~

The store isn’t half as fun alone. Most of the town is caught up in preparations for tonight, leaving the store empty. The emptiness only makes it worse. No one humming or clicking pens or stealing kisses. 

Not that David needs Patrick here. His parents were a beautiful model of how two people could lead very independent lives and yet be still very in love and dependent on each other. Even when they traveled, they never went too long without seeing each other. David likes that he and Patrick are like that. There’s such strength in knowing that one is loved and supported by their spouse. 

Patrick likes to do things. He’s a joiner, as Stevie puts it, whereas he and Stevie are not. Patrick has a team sport for every season,coaching as well as playing. He gets involved in the musicals Jocelyn has continued to direct in his mother’s absence. Patrick is friends with Twyla and Ray and other people who talk without a thought or care if the other person wants to hear it. Patrick’s extracurriculars give David time to hang out with Stevie and get high and not be...people-y all the time.

In the last month, however, with the break between baseball and hockey, Patrick was consumed by the haunted room. David had woken up more than once to find Patrick on a spreadsheet, tracking completion percentages of jobs. Half of Thanksgiving at the Brewers was swallowed up by Patrick and Clint going on about ideas for the room and decorating the Brewer family front lawn. And on more than one morning, David would wander downstairs to find children crawling all over the lawn and the first floor of the house, which he was not properly prepared for. Snacks were delivered outside and a promise was returned that David could have the second floor as his own personal refuge until everyone left. 

_This_ particular obsession is going to be over tonight. Still, David wishes his husband was here to tease about product placement, or at the very least, to restock the shelves. Maybe he’ll save the restocks for tomorrow. 

Saved by the ringing of the store phone, David mentally schedules the restocking for tomorrow and picks up the phone. “Rose Apothecary, how can I help you?”

“Hello, David, sweetheart.”

“Hi, Marcy,” David answers, glad to hear his mother-in-law’s voice. “Patrick isn’t here today. He’s got the haunted high school thing.”

“Oh, honey, I know. He and Clint are debating pulley systems and counterweights right now. They’ll get to lighting next. I wanted to talk to you.”

David is still surprised that Marcy calls sometimes just to talk to him. Something in her tone, a wobble that is reminiscent of anxious Patrick, causes him to straighten. “Of course.”

David pops a hip against the counter and shifts the phone. “You’ll be honest with me, right? Did we bully you and Patrick into having us over for Christmas when you were here for Thanksgiving? Were you actually planning on going to see your parents? Patrick would never say anything.”

David draws his brows together and tries to remember what happened at Thanksgiving. Yeah, they’d agreed to have the Brewers for Christmas, but there had been no bullying. David had been kind of glad to have a quiet holiday at home. 

“No, no. My parents won’t even be on this continent for Christmas,” he tells her, not wanting Marcy to worry any more than she clearly already has. “Mom is filming in Europe, and we don’t quite have Europe money.” He lets out an awkward laugh, because what he now considered Europe money wouldn’t even cover the price of a first class flight. Besides, he really does not want to spend the holidays in Bosnia to watch his mother film _The Crows Have Eyes 5: Crowmans Lend Your Ears._ He’d already been sent too many images of crow ears when he had asked questions about the title. 

They might have had Schitt’s Creek Europe money, but he and Patrick had decided to invest more into the Rose Apothecary business and brand. As it stood, he was still working on talking Patrick into a new car for at least one of them. Probably Patrick. The Lincoln would live forever, ugly as it was. David _had_ talked Patrick into renovating the house a little, well _a lot,_ but enough that the inside felt as homey as the outside. 

“Okay.” Marcy’s relieved sigh and tone-shift reminds David so much of Patrick. He can’t help the smile that spreads listening to her. “Good. I just didn’t want to hijack all your plans.”

“No, Stevie and I can still hang out. If anything, you’re doing us a favor so we can keep the store open on Christmas Eve.”

“I know. And I am incredibly grateful to avoid Clint’s sister poisoning us all when she hosts this year.”

David laughs at that, loud and surprising himself. “We are all grateful.”

“And you have that beautiful new kitchen,” Marcy adds, a hint of reverent longing in her voice.

“Yes, and the kitchen is very glad that you and Clint will be cooking in it. Patrick already has a list of plans for your visit. He’s got a bonspiel, a hockey match and some other stuff lined up.”

“You know, I’m so glad he’s doing all that again. About a year, maybe two, before he left for Schitt’s Creek, he’d stopped a lot of his extracurriculars and really threw himself into work and Rachel, or just work. I don’t think we realized what a big sign it was, that things were wrong.”

“Mmm.” David tries to imagine a world where Patrick doesn’t have places to put all of that extra energy that vibrates throughout his whole body. “He was just working through some things. Oh, how did you like the new body milk? Do you like the updated formula?”

After another fifteen minutes of talking products and what Marcy wants to do to her kitchen at home now that David and Patrick redid theirs, and plans for Christmas, David shuts everything down and locks the store up behind him. The drive to get pizza and come back is boring, and all he wants to do is eat the pizza that was specifically ordered for him. Instead, he totes the whole legion of boxes into the cafeteria where everyone is waiting, mumbling a thank you to the mystery person that opens the door.

Boxes begin flying out of his hands as the locusts descend. David is very, very glad he tucked his pizza at the bottom of the stack where he can keep his fingers tight on it. Students are devouring pizzas at a rate that even David finds impressive, when a hand slides down his back. David blinks, turning to find his husband smiling at him. There’s a little kinked wrinkle in the middle of his forehead still.

David presents his lips for a kiss and again is rewarded. Patrick’s eyes go soft when he pulls back. “You could have texted. I would have sent the kids out.”

“Someone might have stolen my-” Patrick’s mouth breaks into a grin and before he can say anything, David puts a finger quickly over his lips and corrects with, “ _Our_ pizza.”

Patrick nips at the tip of David’s finger, causing him to draw it back. Bold of Patrick in the middle of their peers and children. The grin gracing his husband’s face speaks volumes. “You never would have let one of the kids touch it.”

Patrick leads David to a table in front of the bank of windows just for the pair of them, the kids ranged at tables around Patrick. When he had sold them eating together, Patrick had said it would be a little lunch date. That Patrick thinks they could have a date on very hard, round plastic seats that did not accommodate adult asses, surrounded by locust-children and the odor of mass-manufactured food is very cute.

However, the lackluster ambiance was trumped by David’s ideal pepperoni and mushroom pizza waiting for him. He’s halfway through the pizza when he realizes there’s another half still to go. David frowns deeply and realizes that Patrick has a very intact flimsy paper plate in front of him that is not going translucent with grease, like the one in front of David. It looks almost pristine.

Instead, Patrick has been doodling sketches of floodlights and other lighting elements and words with questions on a napkin: _automation? How many lights to a power cord? Lighting captains?_ **_TIMING!_** David watches him flutter his pen between his fingers before grabbing a second napkin and adding new doodles. His jaw keeps clenching and unclenching and David tries to figure out what happened to the happy husband who greeted him.

“You need to eat something,” David tells him, frowning.

“I’m okay, David.”

Pizza is quickly transferred from the box to Patrick’s empty plate. David is generous and gives Patrick three slices at once. “You were up before sunrise and you probably barely had toast for breakfast. Eat.”

He never looks up. Patrick just picks up a slice without looking up and tears a bite off. Chewing angrily, he speaks with a full mouth. Marcy would disapprove. “Something’s off. We just can’t quite figure out the lighting and I’ll feel better when I do.”

David glances between the napkin and his husband’s face. He brings a hand up to rub soothing circles on Patrick’s back, helping in the only way David can think of. “I think you’ve been working very hard on this, _for weeks,_ and...you know, it will _be_ what it will _be._ I mean this is a project by _high schoolers,_ in _Schitt’s Creek.”_

Patrick does not chuckle. He swallows and his jaw stays clenched. “No, David. That’s not good enough.” The pen taps rapidly against the table “I just need to figure out how to make it work.”

Casting about the room, David looks for anything that might help. Roland seems to be covered in what David hopes is fake blood. Bob is sitting next to the creepy kid who doesn’t get games, and looks more like a vampire than Stevie. Ronnie has also talked Dulce into a date in the school cafeteria. Ronnie. “We could—”

The pen pressed into the napkin so hard, the delicate paper rips. “No. David. Do _not_ ask _Ronnie_ how I can fix it.”

David snaps his mouth shut at Patrick’s pronouncement. He hadn’t even said _anything_ about Ronnie. Yet. “I’m _just saying—_ with her construction expertise…”

Patrick’s jaw is even tighter now, and David wonders if maybe that vein in his temple will finally pop out. “I-I just want Ronnie to see that-that we are equal players in this.”

“Mmm,” escaped before David could stop it. 

Patrick’s face goes slack and his head swivels to look at David. “What? David?”

David feels himself cringe while Patrick just looks at him with those sad, puppy dog eyes but also that edge of daring David to say the wrong thing. David steps gingerly through the minefield he’s blundered into. His hands come up to hold Patrick’s shoulders. “I just thought your need to— please people was something you were, working on. _And,_ remembering that sometimes people will just... _not like you._ And that’s okay.”

It’s not the answer Patrick is looking for. David tries smiling brilliantly to make up for it. 

“Yes, David,” Patrick returns with a thin veneer of rationality. “It’s just that there is no logical reason Ronnie doesn’t like me.”

David strokes at Patrick’s shoulders, internally cringing at the wild look that crept into his eyes. The fact that David pointed that out moments before seems not to have taken any hold in Patrick’s mind. This is definitely for Patrick to deal with in therapy. It’s above David’s paygrade. “Okay. You know what. You’re-you’re _doing great._ I-I am going to _go,_ and get dessert, for _everyone,_ from the hall. Ivan has a table going. I-I will be right back!”

Flinging himself out of his seat, David crashes his knee into the metal thing that folds the table up. He shakes off any concern from Patrick and limp-speedwalks for the door, hoping that no one is watching him as he does so.

David takes two to three breaths of relief once he crosses the threshold of the cafetera. The bake sale table, or tables really take up a large portion of the entryway. The tables make a rather large U shape and Ivan is in the middle, apron still on, probably for effect. A stack of box lids teeters on the edge of one of the tables, but mostly the tables are overflowing with various platters of things. 

“Hello, David! I have many goods today. Butter tart, blueberry butter tart, muffins with the chips of chocolate, many eclairs. All sales go to school.”

David’s browsing through Ivan's goodies, excited to fill the hole that should have been filled with more pizza, when one pulls him up short. “Goats cheese and chive scones?”

Ivan is a gift and a godsend for New York City level baked goods in the middle of nowhere. Few people in Schitt’s Creek have the creative and visionary palette for such things. Resentment lingers bitter on David’s tongue that his father passed on opening a bagel shop with Ivan. There are no good bagels in the general area.

“Yes,” Ivan beams. “Heather and I are working on collaboration to add baked goods to her line of food products. This is a sample.”

David says a little thank you to a god he doesn't believe in for Heather Warner and her general contributions to the food quality of the Greater Elms. Specifically, though, he’s thankful for this scone. And, if he’s really being honest with himself, for Heather never pulling her products from the Apothecary after Ted broke her heart.

David snatches two for later, dropping them into a bag before tossing a toonie into the payment can. If both Heather and Ivan are involved, David is certain the pastry will be spectacular. He also selects two monster cookies and a muffin for later and another toonie clinks its way into the can.

“What about desserts for the volunteers? I heard those were free.” Good money donations do not need to be spent on feeding the children. 

Ivan directs David to the table where the boxes are laid out at one end. The table is full of broken or misshapen baked goods. This is probably where Ivan relegated the things most of the kids and their families made and David is very, very glad he began his own bag of things from Ivan’s actual wares. David avoids the cups of dirt with worms and witches fingers that people seem to think are cute but are actually quite tacky.

He’s mulling over crispy cookies that are burnt at the end and cookies that are not quite done (giving kids salmonella seems wrong), when a rattling noise distracts him. The offending noise is emanating from a rolling cart pushed by Dulce. 

He’s glad she and Ronnie have become more of a thing in the years since. She’s cool and helped him find a stylist who can do his hair, even if he has to drive an hour and a half for a decent cut. She places a tray on the cart and bumps up into David. It’s friendly, but he mock-glares anyway.

“Did you get the speech to get as much intel without giving anything away?” Dulce asks, smirk in place. 

David rolls his eyes as he adds a bundle of broken brownies to the tray he’s creating. “Of course.” At this point, it’s almost a daily speech given whenever David may converse with either Ronnie or Dulce. Patrick had a whole plan at game night last week. They’re both crazy.

“So, what’s the big thing Patrick’s working on wowing the crowd with this year? I heard they’re doing _Blair Witch._ ”

“I heard you’re doing _The Birds_. Some might say it’s derivative of Patrick’s _The Crows Have Eyes_ room last year.”

“Umm, _ours?_ ” Dulce drawls, amusement laced in her voice. David’s face goes sulky as he snatches a bag of some sort of witches fingers and throws them in the tray. “And last year’s theme was campy movies. _The Birds_ is an actual classic.”

“Mmm, okay, we’re getting away from the point which is we are in relationships with people who are in a ridiculous feud and are, in this case, very heavily invested in the opinions of children. _We_ are above this.”

This time Dulce laughs roundly. “Says the man who nearly murdered everyone at game night last week.”

“There were no children involved at game night. Also, _I_ was _correct.”_

Uno should be played by the correct rules and the fact that other people did not know that, or what the official rules stated, and felt comfortable making up their own rules was patently incorrect. David still hasn’t forgiven Ronnie or Patrick for their incorrect rules. The official website had backed David up anyway, much to Patrick’s dismay.

Somewhere in the talking, the tray had gotten very full and heavy.

“As lovely as time in your company is, I should bring this back to Patrick and the kids.”

“They headed upstairs already.”

“Well, fuck.”

“I nicked Jocelyn’s elevator key along with the cart. If you don’t want to hoof it up the stairs, you can stick your tray on here, and we can deliver them together.”

David chews at his lip. The box in his arms gets heavier by the minute. 

“Fine,” David agrees, dropping the tray on the rolling cart. He snatches the bag of goodies he paid for right back out. The bag shakes in Dulce’s general direction. “But if we get yelled at, I’m blaming you.”

Dulce laughs again, starting to push the cart to the elevator. The hideous rattle begins again, and this building just remains a terrible cacophony of sound for David’s ears. Their inability to consider acoustics in the construction of a school is an abomination. Feet and carts and voices and things make too much noise. David is relieved when he gets into the elevator for all of two minutes.

The elevator is small and cramped and rattles as it moves, and he hates every moment of it. It feels like he is going to get stuck or plummet to his death. Too many elevators in the Village and Brooklyn felt like this. He takes a breath of fresh air as they exit—as fresh as teenage body odor and old paper can be, and huffs after Dulce towards Ronnie’s room. 

The rattling gives them away because Ronnie is peeking out before they can even knock. Her eyes go from affectionate to suspicious when her gaze slides past Dulce to see him. David waves anyway with a cheeky smile. 

“Uh-uh, no spies,” Ronnie insists, closing the door behind her as they pull to a stop. She’s dressed in the plain uniform of dark colored clothing that signals she’ll be staying and doing behind the scenes work for this event. “Can’t have you running back to Brewer with all the details.”

Dulce leans in, kissing Ronnie on the cheek and running a hand down her back. “David’s just using the cart with me to deliver desserts. Besides, what could Patrick change now?”

David huffed, throwing his hands in the air before using them to carefully emphasise his points. “I don’t see how me standing outside your room is unfair. Patrick’s not convinced you didn’t peek under the tarp covering the set pieces before game night last week.”

Ronnie clicks softly, arms raising up to delve into her armpits. “The corner was loose. I was securing it for you.”

“Mmmkay,” David mocks, tilting his head to the side with an exaggerated pout.

She doesn’t look him in the eye as her gaze slides past him to look at the floor on his left side. “It would be awful if the supplies were damaged, despite being storm wreckage anyway. I only win fair.”

The word _fair_ pokes a particularly sensitive spot in his brain. Just like that he’s back at game night. “Stacking is against the official UNO rules! It is _not fair_ to make up your own rules!”

Ronnie just rolls her eyes, and gives Dulce a smirk while she points at David. “Go with him to Patrick’s room. See if he’s figured out his lighting system yet.”

“No. I don’t even know _what_ is going on in _there_.” David’s hand waves in large circles at the door Ronnie shut behind her. The lie sounds mostly good, he thinks. He didn’t really see anything, just a glimpse of chrome, a wheel, telephone wires and some lovely antiques. 

“And _if_ I did, I wouldn’t share it. Some of us have honor.”

Ronnie is actually his friend, even if he’d never say it out loud. Not to Ronnie. She’d roll her eyes at him and make a face. Ronnie, like he and Stevie, does not say feelings out loud, really. They more or less just make faces and point out things that people prefer not to notice. It’s better that way.

However, Ronnie is another joiner. Wherever Patrick is, Ronnie is usually also there: bonspiels, travel hockey, baseball leagues and cookie bake offs. David likes to win, but with less physical activity involved. He spent half of middle school allergic to his own sweat and would like that particular affliction to never exist again. 

“May the best room win.”

“Oh, it _will.”_ Ronnie insists, somewhere between a promise and a threat. 

With that David turns on his heel, leaving Dulce with her girlfriend, and takes the cart loaded down with sweets and wheels it toward the other end of the hall. He vaguely hears Dulce tell Ronnie that she’s going back to work rather than spying. David is not planning on telling Patrick that Ronnie got what looks like an actual car inside her room for the final scene of _The Birds,_ anyways. That’s asking for a zero-hour meltdown that David is not in the mood to put up with.

David is clicking the wheels of the cart into a locked position right outside the door when he hears someone ask, “Mr. B, why don’t you and Mr. Rose have kids? You’d be good with them.”

Patrick laughs, and David’s stomach clenches. There’s a clicking and a flickering of the lights. “I like to think I am good with kids.”

“No, I meant like you and Mr. Rose having your own. I mean, you’re married. You have a job and a house.”

David sucks in a breath and finds himself holding it while he waits for Patrick to respond. It’s silly to wait in the hallway of a high school like an ancient stalker. Patrick wouldn’t take more than a beat to smile before answering this kid’s question. That’s how he is. David knows that he’s come at the kids conversation with Patrick a million different ways, including letting Patrick field the kids question from all of the many Brewers who want an answer. Patrick always says the same things: _I’m happy with the life we have. I don’t need children to be fulfilled. Kids just aren’t for us._ The answer never changes.

Even so, an annoying doubt still dances in David’s mind to the tune of whether Patrick would ever _actually_ share any regrets in the face of David’s patent refusal of children. Patrick often refuses to share things that are not what David wants if he is _fine_ with doing what David wants, like when Patrick wanted to buy a house and didn’t tell David because of his ‘We’re moving to New York’ speech. Their communication has gotten better in the intervening years, and with Patrick being introduced to therapy. But that little voice is still whispering in David's ear. So, instead of going in like a normal human being, David hangs out in the hallway like a full on pervert, listening.

The clicking noise has stopped and out of the corner of David’s eye he can tell the light has been left on. 

“Yeah, no,” Patrick says on a sigh, and David releases the breath he was holding a beat after. He leans his head against the brick wall and listens to Patrick patiently explain. “You know, I used to think like that: you grow up, you get married, have kids. That if you do one thing, you have to do everything else. Like it’s a checklist or something. Sometimes, though, what works for some people, it’s not for you.

“David and I don’t want to have our own kids, but I like coaching sports and helping out with community stuff. Not having my own kids means I have time to do things that parents might not, like the Haunted School.”

David can feel the tears welling up in his eyes in the fucking hallway of Schitt’s Creek School of all places. Patrick is so calm, and rational, and happy. He _would_ make an amazing fucking Dad, but David doesn’t want kids and so here is his amazing husband just parenting other people’s kids. 

Patrick’s voice is so matter of fact as he continues. “And that’s the thing, you can choose to get married, like I did. And some people don’t really want to be married, like Stevie or Mr. Bois, but that’s okay, too. You can choose to have kids or not. You can buy a house or rent for the rest of your life if you want to.

“A lot of the time,” Patrick says, his voice going sort of distant. David knows this voice. This is Patrick’s internal feelings voice when he doesn’t want people to know he has feelings. “There are things you think you want, but what you really want is something entirely different.”

David wonders if Patrick knows that David was wrong about wanting to go to New York. That like Patrick and kids, David and New York was something he was supposed to want, a place that was sophisticated and cultured. Every time they visit Alexis though, David feels nothing but a passing fondness. He only makes it three days before eating everything in sight and complaining about the trash and mess and wants to come home to his cottage that is significantly larger than Alexis’s apartment. 

A sob escapes as David imagines they hadn’t bought their house and stayed here. If they’d gone to New York and started over and made new connections to people. David barely wanted to connect with anyone here, and . He covers his mouth with his hand, hoping no one heard him. 

“That sounds confusing.”

Patrick chuckles again, his voice returning to the patient, parent voice as he confirms, “It is. But if you’re brave and very lucky, you’ll figure it out.”

David sobs into his hand again, and tears leak out from behind his eyelashes. There better not be anyone in this hallway. If there is, he hopes they are very un-Schitty and pretend they didn’t see him.

“Hey. I thought you’d absconded with our desserts,” Patrick says, causing David’s eyes to fly open.

David flutters his hands around his face, mopping at the tears and trying to fan them dry. Patrick steps further into David’s space, and uses those strong, callused thumbs to wipe away the tears. “Oh, uh, hey,” David manages to choke out. “Absconded?”

Patrick shrugs, still carefully wiping at David’s face. “Your mom called to see if we needed a fresh cardboard-cutout of her from Crows 3.”

“And you told her…”

Patrick smiles. “That you still haven’t found the last one and I was going to wait until you found and destroyed it.”

 _“What_ did you _do_ with it?”

Patrick’s eyes gleam before going serious again. “How much did you hear?”

“Ooh,” David murmurs, somewhat wobbly, his hands coming to ground him on his husband’s person.”Just that I was very lucky and at least somewhat brave to end up with you as my husband.”

Patrick leans in and nuzzles his favorite spot on David’s neck. “That makes two of us.”

Tears creep back into David’s eyes and he squeezes back against them. “Fuck.” 

Teenaged-David would never believe that he would cry more easily at forty than he did at fourteen, but here he was. The blame lay mostly with his sweet husband. Fourteen-year-old David probably wouldn’t believe in his existence either. 

“Aww, Dave, the lights are still on!” Roland yells, running David’s moment. His eyes fly open as Patrick pulls away. Stupid Roland is standing in the middle of the hall, chewing on some kind of seeds and gesturing with the bag. “You can’t be that scared. I see why you stay away from the main event!”

David growls, pushing his lower jaw out beyond his upper lip. Patrick pats David’s ribcage twice, and he swings his furious gaze to Patrick. “Hey, let’s get these treats into the kids.”

Patrick grabs the cart, leaving a cold wind where his body should have been. On Patrick’s way by, David snatches the bag of quality treats from the cart. “Not these. These are for me.” David presses the top of the bag just over his heart for emphasis. He wiggles slowly to accentuate the words he’s saying to Patrick. “And if you’re, very, very lucky _one_ thing in here _might_ be for you.”

Patrick just bats his eyelashes at David a beat before saying, “Oh, I’ll get my dessert.”

David manages a strangled hum and a vague head bob that is closer to a shake at that. “Okay.”

Patrick leans in, hands still on the cart. His voice drops to a deep husk. “Don’t go too hard with Stevie tonight, I would like to celebrate my victory with my husband.”

“Awfully sure of yourself, aren’t you?” David asks, a flutter of excitement shivers through him and he knows his face is far too excited. 

“We fixed the lighting,” Patrick says, nodding to his head towards the door. “Come see.”

David sucks his lips between his teeth for a moment and nods. He enters the room with Patrick, who tells the whole group that David picked out to all the treats. They locus all over the tray, picking up snacks and carting them back to their different hiding holes. There’s an odd chorus of thank yous from the students, some with their mouths full.

Patrick thanks him with another kiss, which really is the best thing that he could ask for. He lets himself be led away to check out the lighting, and the pulleys, and other creations he doesn’t really care about, but Patrick does. David’s traveled the whole world over, multiple times, but there’s really nowhere else he’d rather be than in this ancient school building with his husband holding his hand. The general here, the town itself. The school could not be a part of it at all, really. But standing beside Patrick, the school matters far less than the man.


End file.
